Something About You
by BabyCaramel
Summary: Pre-Rent fic, in which Mark meets someone new. *UPDATED 6/27: CHAPTER SIX ADDED!* Please read/review!
1. Chapter One

Title: Something About You  
Disclaimer: Not my characters. As usual.  
Distribution: Fanfiction.net. If you want it for an archive, or just to make fun of endlessly, ask me first. Yeah.  
Feedback: If you're so inclined, go ahead. AliQG@aol.com, or that fancy review box on ff.net works too. :-)  
Notes: Would ya look at this? Another fic in which the Mark/Roger-ness doesn't progress beyond subtext. I have been displaying considerable restraint lately! Summary: In which... um... Mark makes a friend. I'm so bad at summarizing.  
  
- - - - - Something About You - - - - - 

He was asleep on a bench in Tompkins Square Park when I saw him, huddled against the cold wooden boards in an attempt to trap some semblance of heat in his frigid body. He wore pajama pants, thin flannel ones, with a heavy blue sweatshirt and beaten-up Doc Marten boots. Underneath his head, serving as a makeshift pillow, was a black guitar case, dirty and covered with stickers, lyrics, and notes from friends in White-Out. His hands, large and strong, with calloused fingertips, clutched the case's neck protectively as he slept. A very light layer of freshly fallen snow blanketed his motionless form.  
  
He looked so cold and vulnerable and... alone. A feeling I had known all too well, for about as long as I was able to remember. I stood there for a moment just staring at him, wondering what his circumstances were. Why was he homeless? What stories might he have to tell? Almost unconsciously I turned my camera on and began recording.   
  
The guitarist stirred slightly, and I quickly flipped the power switch back to the off position. People in New York, I reasoned, probably didn't like being filmed without their consent. Luckily, he stayed asleep, shifting onto his back and becoming still again.   
  
This time I kept my camera at my side, but I couldn't help wondering about this mysterious musician. Did he have a family? Friends? Did he need a friend? _Everybody needs a friend_, I thought to myself. _  
  
_Including me._  
  
_That's when I found myself turning and walking inside a nearby McDonald's. As I approached the counter, I dug through my pocket for change, praying that I had money. My fingers emerged with a crumpled five dollar bill. _Score._ Distractedly I gave my order to the cashier, glancing out the window as if I was afraid the boy might wake up and leave at any moment. A minute or two -- although it felt more like eternity to me -- passed before I had the bag of food in my hands.  
  
He was still out there.   
  
I jogged out of the restaurant and back to the bench. For a moment I hovered beside him uncertainly. What if he got angry at me? What if he thought I was insulting him? What if he was actually dead, not asleep? What if he didn't even speak English?  
  
My heart caught in my throat as the musician's eyes fluttered open. He blinked several times before noticing me and sitting up. He didn't speak.  
  
I, um... I coughed nervously. Hi. I'm Mark Cohen. I was wondering if--  
  
He shook his head, as if I had asked him a question. I'm not who you're looking for, he muttered, brushing the dust of snow off his sweatshirt.  
  
No, I -- I'm not looking for anyone. I just, I thought... I mean, I saw you sleeping there, and -- well, you looked like you could use something warm, so... I held up the paper bag limply.   
  
He raised an eyebrow. You bought me breakfast?  
  
Was the incredulity in his voice a good sign or a bad one? I continued rapidly, I would've just given you money, but I thought that might be demeaning, and I'd rather eat breakfast with you and have someone to talk to, anyway, I mean, I'm new to the city and I don't know many people--  
  
Have you ever met a homeless person before? he interrupted. His eyes met mine challengingly.   
  
My face flushed scarlet with embarassment. Just because I haven't lived here long, you don't have to assume -- I mean, how should I know? In Scarsdale everyone's rich and there's nobody sleeping on the streets and I just figured--  
  
He interrupted me again, this time sounding vaguely concerned. Hey, calm down. I was just asking. I realized that the earlier look, which I'd mistaken for offense, was actually mere amusement.   
  
I rubbed at my cheek with an oversized sweater sleeve in the hope that it might absorb some of the redness. Oh. Well, no. I -- I guess I haven't.  
  
We were both silent for a moment; he stared intently at my face while I studied the ground with sudden, engrossing interest. The food's gonna get cold if you stand there much longer, he finally pointed out. I smiled and collapsed gratefully on the other side of the bench. What'd you get?  
  
Egg McMuffins and coffee. Hope that's okay.  
  
Are you kidding? At this point McDonald's sounds like a delicacy. All I've eaten since last week is Ramen noodles. He gladly accepted the wrapped-up sandwich and styrofoam coffee cup.  
  
I used to eat those a lot too, in college, I said with a shrug. Cheap. They aren't so bad.  
  
I have to eat them dry because I have no heat to boil water with.  
  
An involuntary laugh escaped my lips before I could stifle it, and he scowled at me. Immediately I felt bad. I'm sorry,it's just... the idea of you sitting on a sidewalk, snacking on a freeze-dried block of noodles...  
  
His lips twitched upward into something resembling a smile. It's not _that _ funny...  
  
I grinned. Is too... you know you want to laugh.  
  
Ah, shut up. He stuck his tongue out and shoved me slightly. Another silence, much more comfortable this time, fell over us as our laughter died down and we started in on our breakfasts. You know, I'm not really that homeless, he said at last.  
  
That homeless? What, like there are degrees of homelessness?  
  
You're a real smartass, aren't you? he teased. I was staying with a friend -- bandmate actually -- until last week. He kicked me out.  
  
What for?  
  
I slept with one of his sisters.  
  
That's not... so terrible, I guess.  
  
And when I say one, I mean both. Not at the same time of course.  
  
I could feel my face heating up again. Um, well, I guess I can see where he--  
  
And when I say sisters, I mean sister and brother.  
  
I blinked. If it was possible for my cheeks to get any brighter, I was certain they were doing so right now. Suddenly my throat was constricted and dry. Well. Guess your bandmate wasn't too gay-friendly, then.  
  
He chuckled. At least the rest of the band took my side. Of course, we're now short a bassist, but we'll find someone. He cocked his head to the side and peered up at me, as if seeing me for the first time. So what's your deal?  
  
My... deal? I repeated blankly.  
  
Sure. Your story. Your dream. Everybody has one... it's why we come to this godforsaken city, isn't it?  
  
I shrugged. I really only came because Benny -- he was my roommate at Brown -- wanted me to move here with him.  
  
Oh yeah? He didn't look convinced by my half-explanation. What's the camera for?  
  
I glanced down at my 16 millimeter, running my fingers over it in an almost loving gesture that had become second nature whenever anybody mentioned my work. I make films, documentaries mostly, in my spare time. Which is kind of all the time right now.  
  
A degree from Brown and you can't even get a decent job?  
  
  
Well, I didn't exactly graduate. I was studying law, but I hated it, and Benny convinced me we'd both be happier in the city. So we dropped out, and... here I am.  
  
The musician -- I realized he still hadn't told me his name -- nodded, like he'd been expecting that answer all along. Gonna be the next Rob Epstein, kid?  
  
Normally I would have been defensive over being called -- hell, I was probably older than him -- but something in the way he spoke made me not mind at all. I think I even sort of liked it.   
  
Besides. He knew who Rob Epstein was, something that automatically boosted him way up in my regards. We'll see about that, I guess. If I don't find money soon I'll have to sell my camera to pay the damn rent. I clutched the camera's handle a little tighter. Suddenly, as those kinds of things are inclined to do, an idea struck me. Hey, I just thought, maybe -- if you need a place to stay, there's room in our loft. I'm sure Benny wouldn't mind. And we could share the rent.  
  
He looked flattered. Really? I mean, I'd hate to put you out or anything, you don't even know me--  
  
No, I -- I'd like it. I smiled, a little shocked at having said that aloud. Benny's great and all, but it'd be nice to have someone else around.  
  
Dude... thanks. I mean that. The gratitude in his eyes, coupled with the awkwardness of his speech, suggested that those weren't words he said often.   
  
It's no problem. Really. And without reason or warning, a blush began creeping up the sides of my cheeks again. I'm sorry, but I don't think I caught your name, and if we're going to be living together, I should probably know it...  
  
He grinned -- his smile seemed to light up the foggy gray morning -- and thrust a hand toward me. I'm Roger.  
  
I grasped his hand warmly, relieved to finally put a name to his face. Mark. Nice to meet you. We glanced upward at the same time. Hey, it's beginning to snow.  
  
A short pause ensued, broken by identical laughs as we realized we'd spoken in unison. I looked at our hands, still holding tightly to each other. The blush on my face deepened.  
  
His smile grew wider. I wondered if the snow had disappeared as quickly as it had begun, for everything inside me suddenly felt like summer.   



	2. Chapter Two

Title: Something About You  
Disclaimer: Still not my characters.  
Distribution: Fanfiction.net. If you want it for an archive, or just to make fun of endlessly, ask me first. Yeah.  
Feedback: If you're so inclined, go ahead. AliQG@aol.com, or that fancy review box on ff.net works too.   
Notes: So, uh, I tried to keep it non-slash. And technically it still is. I mean, they don't kiss or anything, anyway. ::smiles innocently:: Whatever, decide for yourself. Knowing me, this'll probably turn into M/R eventually, but I'm not sure yet. The whole pre-Rent thing kinda puts a damper on that (unless I make it an A.U. fic, which I might very well do). We'll see.  
Summary: In which a conflict arises between the old friend and the new one. (Yep, still bad at summarizing.)  
  
- - - - - Chapter Two - - - - -  
  
Don't get your hopes up, it's not much, I warned as we walked up the six flights of stairs to the loft.   
  
It's a roof and walls anyway, and that's all I really need. Roger adjusted the strap of his guitar case.  
  
Well, we worry about the roof sometimes. I paused at the fifth floor landing to take a breath. Roger noticed my windedness immediately.  
  
What, are you tired? Poor baby, he joked.  
  
Shut up, I shot back, blushing. I have asthma.  
  
Oh, yeah? Here, allow me. Before I knew what was happening, he wrapped his arms securely around my waist and hoisted me up.  
  
You fuckin' idiot, put me down, I laughed.  
  
And let you have an asthma attack? I wouldn't dream of it. He struggled up the stairs, ignoring my protests. Finally -- Roger couldn't move very fast, considering the amount of weight he was carrying -- we reached the top floor. He lowered my feet to the ground but retained his grip on my waist.   
  
I swallowed hard and willed my face not to turn bright red. Umm... Roger?  
  
He didn't move.  
  
Could you...  
  
His arms left my body quickly. Sorry. Didn't mean to offend you.  
  
Great, now he thought I was homophobic or uncomfortable around him or something. No, I didn't mind -- I mean, it's okay, it doesn't bother me.  
  
Oh, so you're able to look past the fact that I swing both ways? That's so decent of you.  
  
I didn't mean it like that! I was just saying--  
  
He pressed a hand to the side of my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. It's a joke. Lighten up. With an amused grin on his face, he slapped my cheek lightly and withdrew his hand.  
  
I nodded mutely. Why did he have this effect on me? Had I always been such a complete social dimwit? _Change the subject, before you make a bigger fool of yourself._ Well, this is it. Our humble abode. I poured all my concentration into unlocking the door and throwing it open.   
  
Roger stepped inside and looked around with a nod of approval. Not bad. How long you been living here?  
  
Just a few weeks.  
  
And your roommate, what's his name again?  
  
Benny. He's probably out and about though -- hates to waste a single minute of the day. You can stay in my room. There's only one bed, but it's pretty big. I mean, if you don't mind sharing.  
  
Sharing a bed with you? What's there to mind? He arched an eyebrow, in a manner I could only interpret as seductive. God, was he coming on to me?  
  
More importantly, I thought with a gulp: did I mind if he was?  
  
I turned away and strode quickly to my bedroom. Here it is. You can put your stuff wherever.  
  
All he had was a backpack and a guitar case, so it didn't take him long to find space, despite the room's clutter. Is that everything you own?  
  
Basically. Don't need much when you live on the streets -- a little money and some clothes. My ex-roommate threw out the rest of my shit, anyway.  
  
That's awful.  
  
He shrugged. I've got my guitar. It's all I care about.  
  
Do you write your own stuff?  
  
I try. Most everything I come up with blows.  
  
I'm sure you're great.   
  
You say that now. Roger dropped onto the mattress, smirking.  
  
Well... I'd love to hear you play sometime.  
  
He glanced at me skeptically. You shouldn't ask a question if you don't want the answer. And believe me, you don't.  
  
I'm serious. Please? I whimpered with the best dejected puppy-dog face I could manage. Hey, it seemed to work on everyone else, might as well try it on him.  
  
Roger rolled his eyes and heaved a dramatic sigh. Oh, all right. Don't say I didn't warn you.  
  
He carefully extracted the instrument, tightening his fingers around its neck. He handled his guitar the way I did my camera: gentle and loving, with delicate precision. I'd always had images of violent rock stars thrashing around with their guitar, but Roger's method shattered that myth. It was almost... well, almost like he was making love as he played.  
  
After a while he began to sing. His eyes fell shut while he concentrated on the music. He had a voice that reminded me of honey and brown sugar and every other stupid cliche known to man, but it was true. I watched the muscles in his arms stretch and contract with each chord his fingers created.   
  
He was beautiful. Did I look like that when I filmed? Or did Roger just have something special?   
  
I closed my eyes as the final note faded away, trying to capture and preserve it in my memory forever.   
  
"Well?"   
  
I opened my eyes again to find the musician watching me anxiously. "What'd you think?"   
  
"That was God, it was wonderful, Roger. You're really talented."   
  
A faint hint of a blush appeared on his cheeks. Well, at least I wasn't the only one around here who got embarrassed occasionally. "I wrote it last year," he said. "Never really finished, though. I lost inspiration somewhere down the line, and everything I wrote after that just sounded wrong."   
  
"I thought it was great."   
  
He peered at me closely, his lips finally forming into a smile. "Thanks. That means a lot."   
  
I nodded. We were silent for a minute, our eyes locked, until I turned away and he cleared his throat.   
  
"Your turn. I wanna see one of your films."   
  
"What? Oh, no, I can't," I insisted. "I mean, I haven't exactly finished them yet--"   
  
"I don't mind."   
  
"But I don't like to show unfinished stuff!"   
  
Roger rolled his eyes and laid back on a pillow. "Okay. When you finish, then?"   
  
"Sure. I guess." Not like I'd ever complete a film, anyway, at the rate I was going. I fell back onto the mattress beside him with a sigh. Just as my eyelids began to flutter shut, I felt an arm brush against mine. I swallowed hard. Maybe it was just an accident.   
  
It happened again; this time, his hand rested lightly above my wrist. Warmth seemed to radiate over my skin from the point of contact.   
  
Suddenly the bedroom door swung open, and Roger pulled away quickly. I sat up to see who had entered, commanding the pang of disappointment in my stomach to go away.   
  
Benny appeared in the doorway, staring suspiciously at Roger. "What the hell is this, Mark?"   
  
Swallowing hard, I scooted a few more inches from the songwriter. Benny was a great friend, but he had a jealous streak like no other when he felt his position being threatened. "His name's Roger Davis," I replied. "We met in the park earlier this morning. He, uh, he's gonna be our new roommate."   
  
"Were you planning on consulting me in this decision?" He fixed his glare on me and I flinched reflexively.   
  
"He just needed a place to--"   
  
"This isn't your mommy's house, Mark, you can't just bring home all the little lost puppies in the Village and beg me to let you keep them."   
  
"Look," Roger interjected, standing and stalking towards Benny, "believe it or not, I _am_ a person, so maybe you should stop picking on him and take your problems up with me. Unless you're too scared to mess with someone your own size."   
  
"Roger" I said pleadingly. This was not turning out the way I'd hoped at all.   
  
Benny gave Roger a condescending snort. "You think I couldn't take you on, cutie pie?"   
  
"Is that supposed to be a threat? I've lived here two years, Barney--"   
  
"Benny," he corrected icily.   
  
"--And I've seen more than you probably have your whole life. I'm not scared of some polo-playing Ivy League dropout who still lives off his parents' credit card."   
  
"Then why don't you go to a fucking homeless shelter where you belong and stop stinking up my loft?"   
  
"Guys, chill!" Finally the two noticed my presence and shut their mouths.   
  
"We'll talk later," Benny told me as he headed for the door. "I'm out." He slipped his sunglasses on and flashed a peace sign before disappearing from the room.   
  
I sighed and leaned back against the headboard. Talk about a disaster. Probably just a few minutes, I mused, until Roger decided to pick up and take off.   
  
"Nice guy," Roger stated dryly.   
  
"I'm sorry about that. He's not usually such an asshole, I swear. He only likes change when it's on his own terms."   
  
"Well, he's just gonna have to get used to it this time."   
  
"Wait, you're not -- I mean, I thought for sure after that you'd..."   
  
Roger shrugged. "I've had worse roommates. Believe me. I'm not letting him push me around."   
  
"Wow." I grinned, a mixture of relief and admiration in my voice. "I'm not sure if that makes you brave or stupid."   
  
"Probably both," he muttered. "Hell, I get a kick out of it, really. I like things rough."   
  
Was it my imagination or did he just wink at me?   
  
"Um." I coughed and jumped up from the bed. "It's awfully stuffy in here."   
  
"Is it? I hadn't noticed."   
  
"Maybe we should I don't know. Go do something. I hear Central Park's beautiful in the winter."   
  
He smiled. "But you'd never be able to tell with all the tourists clogging it up."   
  
"Come on," I whined, "it'll be fun. We can go ice skating, and see the Christmas tree."   
  
"Oh, goody!" Roger jumped up, stowing his guitar case under my bed. "And maybe we can get mugged while we try to find our way on the subway! Then we'll get the _full_ New York experience!"   
  
"You're such a spoilsport."   
  
"Hey, it's not my fault you make it so easy." He approached me then, hesitatingly, slung an arm over my shoulders. "Take a jacket, you'll freeze out there. You've got nothing on your bones to insulate you.  
  
I rolled my eyes but couldn't suppress a smile at his sudden display of motherliness. I hadn't exactly pegged him as the responsible type.  
  
We made our way to the living room/kitchen/dining area, where I grabbed my coat and scarf. Roger still had his leather jacket on. It looked fairly new; I wondered how he could afford luxuries like that but not food or an apartment.   
  
Birthday present, he explained, gesturing toward the jacket as if he'd read my thoughts. My ex got it for me, just a week or two before... um, before she left me.  
  
What was her--  
  
A shadow fell over his face. It was three months ago.  
  
What happened?  
  
Roger shrugged and swallowed hard. We just, you know... differences. She's probably somewhere better now. He cleared his throat, turning for the door. So are we going or not? If we get there early we can miss the crowd at the ice rink.  
  
I followed behind him silently. Something was amiss here: he'd changed the subject way too quickly. Of course, it had only been three months. If she'd done something to really hurt him, he might not be over her yet. _If only I knew, maybe I could--  
  
No. You're not pressing the issue, Cohen,_ I thought resolutely. _He hardly knows you. Nobody wants to divulge their life story to complete strangers.  
  
_I just had to win his trust first, then maybe he'd open up. Couldn't be that difficult. Sure, it'd take some time... but spending time with Roger was one thing I didn't think I'd mind at all.


	3. Chapter Three

Title: Something About You  
Disclaimer: Still not my characters.  
Distribution: Fanfiction.net, and anywhere else upon request.  
Feedback: Always welcome. Review box, or AliQG@aol.com, whatever works.  
Notes: Um, yeah. It grows closer and closer to slash every day. So if that's not your bag... well, read it anyway, because I said so. ::nods::  
Summary: In which much iceskating occurs. And apple eating. (Although perhaps not as cute as the apple scene in my unfinished, untitled sequel to Anything But Lonely. /plug) Enjoy.  
  
- - - - - Chapter Three - - - - -   
  
"December 15, eleven AM, eastern standard time. Pan across Central Park, where young and old alike come to play, to relax, to celebrate and to love." As I narrated I glanced over the top of the camera, constantly searching for and planning my next shot. "The snow falls like glitter from the sky. A morning breeze rustles the few leaves that remain on their branches. Steam seeps into the air from the styrofoam coffee cups of passersby." I turned to my left and laughed at the sight. "Roger, meanwhile, displays a maturity far surpassing his scant nineteen years."  
  
He was standing with his head tilted back, mouth wide open to catch the drifting snowflakes. Upon hearing my remark, he stuck his tongue out at me. "Meanie," he muttered.  
  
"Come on." I grabbed his arm and grinned. "Recess is over." Turning my camera off, we walked toward the ice skating rink together. The line wasn't long, and within fifteen minutes we sat on a bench beside the ice, lacing up our skates.  
  
"Ever done this before?" Roger asked as he stuffed our shoes and my camera in a nearby rented locker.   
  
"Once. My JCC youth group came here when I was ten. I was terrible at it."  
  
"Thanks for the warning," he snickered. "My mom forced me to take lessons as a kid. So just hang on to me and you'll be fine."  
  
I arose cautiously, praying for my feet to stay balanced. Roger linked our arms together and pulled me out onto the ice.  
  
"Now, just step forward and push off," he instructed.  
  
That didn't sound so difficult. I did as he said, and skated forward a few feet. Another step, and I glided further.  
  
"There you go." Roger grinned. "Not bad. Wanna try by yourself?"  
  
"Yeah, right."  
  
"Sure. Just keep your center of gravity over the blades."  
  
Like I had any idea how to do that. Before I could protest, though, the musician dropped my arm and slid out in front of me, gesturing me toward him.  
  
With a reluctant sigh, I bit my lip and pushed off. Suddenly my feet wobbled dangerously and the blades seemed to collapse under my weight. "Shit!" I cried out as I began to tumble.  
  
I squeezed my eyes shut and braced myself for the impact, but it never came. Instead, a pair of strong arms encircled my waist from the front and hoisted me upright. The intoxicating scent of leather filled my nostrils.  
  
Catching a shallow breath, I allowed my eyes to open again and look up at Roger's face. I'd half expected to see a taunting smirk or tears of laughter at my expense -- but all I found was a gentle, concerned smile that betrayed his hardened exterior.   
  
"You okay?"  
  
"Yeah." Our faces were so close together...  
  
"Good." He steadied me then whirled around to my side. "Maybe you should just hold on to me after all."  
  
I nodded mutely. What was wrong with me? All I could think about was Roger -- his voice, his face, his smile... I didn't even _like_ guys!  
  
Did I?  
  
_Besides_, I firmly reminded myself, _it's not like he'd ever be into me._ Aspiring rock stars weren't exactly noted for their affinity toward geeky documentarists.  
  
I shook my head, as if that would jar the nagging thoughts from my mind. I clung tightly to Roger's arm as he guided me around the ice. His movements were so graceful and fluid, a stark contrast to my choppy, uncertain strides.   
  
After a while, though, I began to relax and follow his example. It wasn't so difficult, really, once I loosened up and stopped trying so hard.  
  
The view was beautiful. A huge evergreen, its branches spangled with garlands and lights, guarded regally over the parkgoers. The snow continued to sprinkle down on us, glistening in the winter sun. Every few minutes Roger would stop to brush away the crystalline flakes that had gathered on my cheeks and nose. On one of these occasions, he halted too abruptly and we both lost our footing, landing in a tangled heap on the ice.  
  
"Sorry," he laughed. His green eyes had flecks of gold in them that seemed to sparkle as we picked ourselves up.   
  
"What are you trying to do, kill me?" I teased. "Some way to thank the guy who's giving you a place to live."  
  
"Yeah, yeah. I'm ever-so-grateful and you know it." Roger pinched my cheek. "Hey, what time is it?"  
  
I shrugged and showed him my bare wrist. "Probably around noon. Why?"  
  
"Shit..." Roger's face clouded over with worry. "I've gotta get back. I didn't realize it was so late already."  
  
He headed quickly off the ice as I struggled to keep up. "What is it?"  
  
"I just, I need to do something. Let's go."  
  
This was unusual. He sat down beside the lockers and nearly tore his skates off. Before I had even changed shoes, he began walking away.  
  
"Wait up!" I grabbed my camera and sprinted over to him. "What's the problem?"  
  
"I have a -- a meeting. I can't be late." He ran toward the nearest subway entrance.  
  
"Roger, my asthma..."  
  
He stopped and glanced back. "Sorry, it's just really important." He waited, tapping a foot, until I reached him, then he sped down the stairs.   
  
"What's it for?"  
  
"What is this, an interrogation? Christ."  
  
I bit my lip, trying not to frown. Whatever it was that had gotten into him all of a sudden, I sure as hell didn't like it.  
  
The rest of the trip downtown passed in silence, apart from the occasional burst of impatient swearing from Roger. When we finally emerged from the 14th Street station, he took off to the west.  
  
I grasped his sleeve at the shoulder. "The loft's the other way," I reminded him.  
  
He shrugged me off, not even turning to meet my gaze in the eye. "I've gotta meet someone, I told you. Go home, I'll catch up later."  
  
"But I--"  
  
Roger jetted off down the street before I could complete my sentence. With a sigh of aggravation, I started down Avenue B.  
  
The guy was a mystery, that was for certain. He was so open about some things -- his music, his sexuality, his opinions about people -- but a closed book about most everything else. Not that I was much better, admittedly, but... why did he have to act so secretive? What did he have to hide?  
  
I opened the door to the loft and threw my keys on the counter. From the kitchen came the sounds of movement, and then Benny's voice: "So, the Dynamic Duo returns, huh?  
  
"No duo," I answered, entering the room. "Just me."  
  
Benny glanced up from the refrigerator with a nod of greeting. "I prefer it like this, anyway. Where's Kurt Cobain?"  
  
"His name's Roger." I reached around my roommate for an apple from the produce drawer of the fridge. "And I don't know. Had to meet somebody. Seemed important."  
  
"Well, you know how vital those mid-day fucks are to a growing boy's hormones."  
  
I smacked his arm. "Shut up. You could make an effort to be nice, you know."  
  
"Takes two to tango."  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Banality."  
  
"Anytime." He flashed a wide grin then took a seat at the end of the table.  
  
"You're incorrigible."  
  
"Not to mention good-looking and amazing in bed."  
  
I tossed my half eaten apple in his direction. "Keep that information to yourself and your flavor-of-the-month, okay?"  
  
"You know it turns you on," Benny said, propping his feet on the table.  
  
"Yeah, right. My arrow shoots straight, thank you very much."  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
He shrugged and bit into my apple. "Nothing. Just... well, the way you looked at that guitarist kid kinda made it seem like your arrow's path might falter occasionally."  
  
"Fuck off, Benny." _Stop blushing, stop blushing..._ "I don't like him. Not like that."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"I don't!"  
  
""I said, okay." He continued to chew nonchalantly on the fruit.  
  
"And, so what if I did? Would that be such a terrible thing?"  
  
"Other than the fact that he's an insufferable asshole? Nah, not at all. Some of the coolest guys I know are gay. I wouldn't think any less of you. Just try to keep it down at night -- these walls are pretty thin and I need my beauty sleep."  
  
"I'm not having sex with him!" I exclaimed, giving up hope of the scarlet flush on my cheeks ever fading. "He doesn't even like me!"  
  
"But you like him."  
  
"I don't know!" I sat down in exasperation, leaning my head against the cool metal surface of the table. "I mean, I've never liked a guy before. But Roger's... different, you know? He's special."  
  
"As much as I'd love to listen to you wax poetic about him, I have a date to get ready for." Benny stood up and straightened the bottom of his shirt.   
  
"Now? It's barely the afternoon."  
  
"It takes time to get this face looking as perfect as it does, believe it or not." He winked. "Besides, we've got an early dinner with her father. Kind of a business thing. The _real_ date doesn't start until later tonight."  
  
"Have fun." I picked up my apple, which Benny had forgotten about, and bit the last of it off the core. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."'  
  
"But Mark," he complained mockingly, resting his chin on the top of my head, "just by going out I'm already doing something you wouldn't do."  
  
"Have I mentioned lately that I hate you?"  
  
"Well, that's why I'm dating her and not you." He ruffled my hair before darting from the room.  
  
_Alone again_, I thought with a sigh. It wasn't fair. We'd lived in the city all of three weeks, and already Benny had friends, dates, business connections... a life. Me? I met one fucking person, and even he deserted me to do God-knows-what while I sat around the loft waiting. My luck, as usual. Just terrific.  
  
I didn't know when it happened or for how long, but at some point my head slumped over the table and my eyes drooped shut in light, dreamless sleep. Finally the noise of the front door swinging open -- I must've left it unlocked earlier -- and then slamming shut jarred me awake. I lifted my head just as a familiar leather jacket and plaid pants entered my line of vision.  
  
There he was.


	4. Chapter Four

Title: Something About You  
Disclaimer: Still not my characters.  
Distribution: Fanfiction.net, and anywhere else upon request.  
Feedback: Always welcome. Review box, or AliQG@aol.com, whatever works.  
Notes: This chapter is less plot development and more character development, so I apologize in advance for boring-ness. The next chapter picks up a bit, I promise. And for anyone who's wondering, no, I haven't yet decided whether this will remain pre-Rent or turn into AU (and, therefore, full-out slash). Guess you'll have to wait and see. :-)  
Summary: Dinner time. How come all my chapters involve food? Weird. Anyways, yeah. Go on, just read!  
  
- - - - - Chapter Four - - - - -   
  
"So your meeting went okay?"  
  
Roger flashed a brilliant smile. "Great. It was great."  
  
I nodded, watching him rifle through the contents of the refrigerator. "That's... good." I decided against making a big deal over his mysterious absence. After seeing how defensive he'd gotten when I tried to question him earlier -- well, we didn't need an encore performance of that.  
  
"So, uh, how did you spend the day?" He opened a bottle of water and gulped it down thirstily.  
  
The day? I glanced at the wall clock above the stove. 5:00 PM. Jesus, what kind of meeting lasted four hours? _Stay cool, don't let him see you upset._ "Oh, I just hung out with Benny for a while, then took a nap. Pretty low-key." After a short pause, I added, "You?"  
  
Roger eyed me for a moment with what looked almost like suspicion, then took another swig of water and grinned. "Band rehearsal," he answered simply, rubbing his nose.  
  
"You didn't take your guitar."  
  
"Well, Adam had one I could borrow." He sat down in the metal folding chair beside me. "Who cares what happened today? Let's talk about tonight?"  
  
"Tonight?" A vague fluttering filled my stomach.  
  
"I know some people who're having a party. It's gonna be huge -- they rented this warehouse and shit. Music, drinks, plenty of hot girls..." He glanced at me sideways. "And hot guys. You in?"  
  
I ran my finger nervously along the edge of the table. "I don't know, I might have stuff to do..."  
  
"Liar. Come on, it'll be great. Just you and me -- and half of Manhattan's under 25 population."  
  
"Roger, I just... I'm not really into the party scene." Wow, I was actually sharing my true thoughts with him. That felt like a first.  
  
"Why not?" He scooted closer and placed an arm around my shoulder. "If you think everyone's gonna reject you, they won't. You'll probably be one of the cutest guys there."  
  
To top it all off, my cheeks were now a blazing shade of crimson. "It's not that," I managed to choke out. "I'm not good with crowds. I get so uptight."  
  
He waved a dismissive hand through the air. "I can fix that. You'll be fine. And if you really hate it after all we can leave. Trust me, okay?"  
  
I finally gave a reluctant nod, hoping I wouldn't soon regret it.  
  
Roger smiled triumphantly. "Great. Go get ready, we can eat dinner first. I know a place you'll love, it's right across from the park."  
  
Well, he just knew everything, didn't he? I pushed away from the table and trudged to my room. This party thing was giving me a bad feeling, and I didn't like it.  
  
_Jesus, loosen up. You're twenty -- act like it already._ Wouldn't normal guys my age have been psyched about an opportunity like this? It was the college party experience I'd never gotten with all the stuffed shirts at Brown.  
  
But the truth was... I'd never particularly regretted missing out on anything.   
  
Maybe it was time for me to change. Live a little. Roger would be a good influence on me.  
  
In the bathroom next door, I heard the shower start running. Distantly I wondered when the last time Roger had taken a shower was. I mean, warm running water wasn't really accessible to homeless people -- hell, half of the time our heater didn't even function correctly. A sacrifice you have to make to live somewhere affordable, I guess.  
  
With a sigh I threw open the closet door and peered inside critically. Surely I owned something appropriate for the occasion.  
  
What the hell did people wear to these things, anyway?  
  
After sorting through piles of dirty or ragged old clothes, I settled on a pair of black corduroy pants and a royal blue sweater. As the water in the other room stopped running, I slipped on a pair of checkered shoes (Benny picked them up in California on vacation, thought they were too funny and gave them to me as a gift... just about died when I actually started wearing them) and sat down to wait for the guitarist.  
  
He burst in a few minutes later, clad only in a thin towel around his waist. I coughed and averted my eyes. _What is wrong with you? It's not like he's the first man you've ever seen half-naked._ But in all the years of high school PE, I'd never reacted like this to someone in the locker room.  
  
Damn it. What if I **was** starting to like Roger?  
  
Then I really would be the artsy faggot' my father had always predicted when I was younger. Just what I need, to prove him right after all.   
  
It wasn't fair. Why was I letting his words run my life? I was an adult. For all I cared, he could rot away in Scarsdale laughing at me until he died. This was **me**, not him. Hell, maybe I'd hook up with Roger just to spite him.  
  
_Yeah. I'm sure Roger will just love that idea._ I sighed, frowning.  
  
The songwriter must have picked up on my sour mood, because he flopped down beside me and asked, "Penny for your thoughts?"  
  
I shrugged. "Just thinking. About my dad."  
  
"And that's not a good thing, I'm guessing."  
  
"There are certainly happier subjects."  
  
He stretched out on the bedsheets and looked up at me. "Wanna talk about it?"  
  
So it was okay for him to interrogate me but not the other way around, apparently. "No," I shot back, my voice coming out harsher than I'd intended. "No, I don't want to."  
  
"Okay..." An awkward silence ensued until he decided to speak again. "My dad left the house when I was fifteen. He was an asshole to live with, though. Never home and when he was, he was either drunk or doped up."  
  
"That's terrible." I turned onto my side to get a better look at the musician. He was staring up at the ceiling, his forest green eyes emotionless and distant.  
  
"You learn to accept it after a while. Besides, he's my dad. I love the fucker." His eyes flashed then with a loyalty so fierce, I would've given anything to capture it on film. My fingertips ached for the familiar lines of my camera.  
  
But more than that, my chest ached to feel that unconditional devotion for myself.  
  
"Do you see him a lot?" I asked softly.  
  
"Sometimes. He lives in the Bronx last I heard from him. We've got this agreement: stay out of each others' hair unless we need money or something."  
  
"What a deal." It was a little odd, learning so much about Roger's past so soon. _He must really trust me._  
  
So maybe trusting him wouldn't be so difficult, either.  
  
"My dad used to harass me all the time," I began. Roger glanced up in surprise; I wondered if it was due to what I'd said, or the fact that I said it. "I wasn't the tough, athletic son he'd always wanted, so I guess he held that against me. My mom never really liked it, but he saved the worst of it for when she wasn't around. Besides, she was too busy fawning over her perfect' daughter. Cindy. Class president, valedictorian, star cello player in the school orchestra, youth leader at the synagogue. How could a talentless A/V geek like me compete?"  
  
"I don't think you're talentless," Roger protested. "The way you handle that camera, it's like it's a part of you."  
  
"If you're trying to flatter me into showing you my films, it won't work."  
  
The musician laughed and punched my shoulder. "Oh ye of little faith. I don't flatter people, believe me. If I compliment you, it's because you deserve it."  
  
I swallowed the lump that was forming in my throat. "Well, what about you? You have the most amazing voice I've ever heard. And your hands, they just fly over the guitar strings..." I trailed off. "And, um, I'll maybe stop now before I sound obsessive."  
  
Roger shifted so that we were facing each other. "There's a lot more I can do with my hands, you know..."  
  
I became conscious of his head drawing closer to mine. "Is that... so..."  
  
Our lips were only centimeters apart and I could feel his warm, heavy breath on my skin when, all of a sudden, Roger pulled away and stood up. "So, uh, dinner now?"  
  
I blinked. "Um, yeah. Dinner, sure, right." _Oh, blow him away with your expansive vocabulary, why don't you._  
  
Damn it, I knew this would happen. I'd gotten too confident, had somehow let myself believe he might actually be interested in me, and now I'd been proven wrong. I should have fucking known. Now things would be weird, and he wouldn't want to be around me, and--  
  
_Cool it! Stop freaking out. Just wait it out and see what he does. _I took a few deep, calming breaths before attempting to speak. "So,what's this place we're going to?" There, that was a little better.  
  
"It's called the Life Cafe. Caters a lot to the hippy, vegan crowd if you're into that kind of thing."  
  
I shrugged. "Never really tried it, I guess."  
  
"Surprising." Roger rolled his eyes. "Most of the kids around here are either health freaks or animal rights freaks. Or both."  
  
"Oh." I allowed myself to smile. "Nah, not me. Why, is it required to have a cause' around here?"  
  
"You mean they didn't mention it in the lease?" He laughed and grabbed my arm. "Come on, if we get there early we can avoid the masses."  
  
I followed him out of the bedroom, my nerves loosening a little. Maybe he didn't hate me. At least he wasn't acting like it. And he hadn't told me to shove off and get lost -- always something to be grateful for.  
  
We grabbed our jackets and exited the loft, trampling down the staircase in an informal race. He stuck his tongue out at me after jumping off the final stair while I had half a flight to go. Then he waited for me to catch up before continuing out of the building and down the street.  
  
The restaurant was only a block east and a block south from our loft. Looked pretty decent, actually. I wasn't sure what to expect when it came to Roger, but I could get used to places like this -- small, cozy, very friendly atmosphere.   
  
A tallish, overall-clad waiter greeted us when we entered. His unruly curls were pulled back by a faded blue bandana but stuck out untamed behind it. He gave us a flirtatious smile as he seated us and took our drink orders.   
  
When he left, Roger leaned over the table to me. "D'you think he's cute?"  
  
What, had I been drooling without realizing it or something? I shrugged nonchalantly. "He's not bad. Why?"  
  
"That's Steve. We dated a few times last year. Real fun guy. Sweeter than anything. You'd like him."  
  
Did he mean--? "Hmm. Why'd you break up?"  
  
"We weren't ever really together. Just, you know, dated... fucked..."  
  
I coughed and lowered my eyes. The menu, suddenly, seemed very intriguing.  
  
Steve returned with our drinks a moment later -- water for me, beer for Roger. "You boys know what you're getting?" he asked, pulling out a notepad.  
  
"I'll have my usual," Roger replied, then looked at me.  
  
"I guess I'll have the vegan burrito, please."  
  
"I thought you weren't vegan."  
  
"So I'm not allowed to try it? You're the one who wanted me to be courageous tonight."  
  
Both men exchanged amused looks. "He's a cute one, Roge," Steve said as he ruffled my hair (much to my chagrin). "Where'd you find him?"  
  
"Funny thing, he found me actually."  
  
"Well, he has good taste." Steve winked at me before whisking off to another table.  
  
"Can I ask you something?"  
  
Roger glanced up, his brow furrowed. "Sure, what?"  
  
"Did I just forget to age past twelve and everybody forgot to tell me?"  
  
He grinned and shook his head. "It's not our fault you're adorable."  
  
"Oh, shut up." I returned to staring at the table. It was kind of interesting. Collages of old Life magazine covers papered the table top. I focused on one with a portrait of John F. Kennedy.   
  
I was busily concocting an article to accompany the cover picture in my head (hey, I'm a filmmaker, I can't help but create stories) when someone tapped my shoulder, interrupting my concentration. "Can I get you some more water, sweetie?"  
  
I nodded, and Steve tilted a pitcher over my glass. Just as he finished pouring, a loud beep sounded from his belt. He smiled apologetically and set the pitcher on our table.  
  
"AZT break," he murmured, producing a white pill from the pocket of his overalls. He swallowed it then glanced quizzically at Roger. His mouth opened, but the musician spoke first.  
  
"Can we get some chips and salsa?" The two looked at each other silently for a second; Steve gave a fraction of a nod and turned to me.  
  
"Anything else you need, hon?"  
  
"No thanks, I'm fine." I watched them mouth something -- I couldn't tell what -- to each other. Finally Steve left, giving Roger a supportive pat on the back as he did. "What was that about?"  
  
"He, uh, he's got HIV. That's one of the medicines he has to take."  
  
"Wow." I'd never known someone who was HIV+ before. Sure, I'd had sex ed & AIDS awareness classes in high school -- I wasn't completely ignorant of the subject. But actually meeting a person who had to live with the terrible virus every day of his life, knowing some day that life would be take from him... I didn't know how to react. "That must be awful."   
  
"It is." Roger shrugged. "I mean, that's what people have told me. Steve's usually pretty optimistic in spite of it all. Spouts all these affirmations he learns at the Life Support group." He took a sip of his beer, then stood up. "Hey, I've gotta use the bathroom, I'll just be a minute. Keep yourself entertained while I'm gone?"  
  
I'll try. With a smile, I watched him turn away, reaching absentmindedly into his pocket as he walked.


	5. Chapter Five

Title: Something About You  
Disclaimer: Still not my characters.  
Distribution: Fanfiction.net, and anywhere else upon request.  
Feedback: Always welcome. Review box, or AliQG@aol.com, whatever works.  
Notes: I wasn't going to post this today, but re-reading Lola's fic inspired me to post it so I can stop worrying about it and write chapter six already. Thanks be to Kimi for beta-ing and amusing me with her lectures about drug tolerance. :-) Love ya!  
Summary: In which Mark and Roger finally make it to the party. And stuff happens. Now read. ::grins::  
  
- - - - - Chapter Five - - - - -   
  
The music pulsed through the cold night air. Even from a block away I could feel its beat pressing in on me, accompanied by the smell of cigarettes, cheap liquor, and a few substances I couldn't identify.  
  
"Roger, I'm not so sure about this," I whined. The driving bass rhythms increased as we neared the once-abandoned warehouse, now swarming with people.  
  
"You'll be fine," the musician insisted.  
  
"No, really. I – I don't feel well"  
  
He turned to me with an odd smile. "I can help you out with that."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Here." He pulled a small vial from his leather jacket. "Try this. You'll feel better, I promise."  
  
I took the container, inspecting it warily. "Is -- is this"  
  
"Go on. You'll like it." He chuckled at my confused expression and grabbed the vial from my hands. "Like this." Lifting it to his nose, he took a deep whiff. Then he closed his eyes and waited a few seconds before grinning and giving it back to me. "Your turn."  
  
I swallowed nervously. I'd never so much as held drugs before, let alone used them. "These are illegal, you know."  
  
"So are a lot of things – gambling, underage drinking, sodomy doesn't mean they're all bad."  
  
But I didn't want to take drugs. The warnings I'd always been told echoed through my mind. _Just say no – don't do drugs – stay clean_ My mother's voice, my teacher's, my father's  
  
On second thought, maybe I would try it.  
  
Resolutely, I lowered my head to the vial and sniffed in the white, odorless powder. When I felt like I could breathe again, I coughed and looked up at Roger. It was kind of nice, actually. My body felt light and pleasantly warm.  
  
"You like?" he asked expectantly.  
  
I nodded. "It's pretty"  
  
Roger snickered. "I forgot how fucked up it makes you your first time." Rather than respond, I bent my head down again. "Whoa, that's enough for now, buddy," he said, intercepting the container. "You've gotta start slow, so you don't OD."  
  
"Please?" I whined. The warm tingling rush felt like it was fading already. I didn't want it to ever cease. I didn't want to be cold again. I was always so cold  
  
"Hey now," I heard Roger murmur, pulling me toward him. Not until my head dropped to his shoulder did I notice the tears spilling down my cheeks. Where did that come from? "It's okay, I'm here," he whispered, resting his chin just beneath my ear.  
  
His embrace stopped the chills that had been threatening to return. He smelled like leather and soap and melting snow. For the first time in a while, I felt comfortable and safe and right.  
  
"Have some water when we get inside. It'll help you come down easier."  
  
I nodded mutely and let the songwriter guide me into the building.  
  
It was dark and thick with smoke inside. A few dim light bulbs suspended from the ceiling provided the only light. Along one wall stood a makeshift bar; a row of bathrooms lined the opposite. In between, a horde of scantily clad, oiled and glittered bodies writhed to the throbbing music. I suddenly felt extremely out of place; I probably had more clothing on than the rest of the denizens combined.  
  
"Isn't this great?" Roger shouted over the din.  
  
"Sure," I called back unenthusiastically. We made our way to the bar, where a muscular Adonis masquerading as a bartender shoved a glass of water across the counter to me. I downed it in one huge gulp.  
  
"Feeling any better?"  
  
"A little." I got another water and sipped at it. "What was that shit, anyway?"  
  
"I don't know. Something a -- um, a friend mixed up for me."  
  
My mind still hazed by the drugs, I smacked Roger across the face.  
  
"What the hell was that for?" he asked in shock.  
  
"You shouldn't take thing when you don't know what they are. You could've OD'ed, or been poisoned or something."  
  
"So could you," he reminded.  
  
"Fuck you."  
  
"Is that an offer?"  
  
"Don't you wish."  
  
Roger smirked. "You're funny when you're high. Can we get two Heinekens over here?"  
  
The bartender took Roger's cash and handed him two bottles. I'd never much liked beer but, not wanting to disappoint, I raised the drink and tipped it back.  
  
When both our bottles were empty, he shed his jacket and placed it on the back of a chair. "Let's dance," he said, his lips brushing against my earlobe as he spoke. He tugged my coat off my shoulders.  
  
A shiver raced down my spine, but I shook my head. "I can't dance"  
  
"Then I'll teach you." Before I could protest, he dragged me out to the dance floor. His arms snaked around my waist, drawing our bodies together. He swayed slowly to the beat, never letting his eyes leave mine. I wanted to look away, intimidated by the intensity of his emerald gaze, but I forced myself to meet it.  
  
"I must seem so out of place here," I said awkwardly, trying to match my movements to his. It was difficult – he was so fluid and natural, while my body was stubborn and uncoordinated.  
  
Roger gave me a smooth, reassuring grin. "You're fine." One of his hands pressed against my back. "You're better than that. You're gorgeous and sexy and everybody here wants you."  
  
I raised my eyebrows. "Everybody?"  
  
"Everybody."  
  
I knew it was coming. That tiny smile, the way his eyelids fluttered nearly shut and he leaned in with excruciating slowness and yet somehow it still caught me by surprise when our lips finally met. His fingers found my hair and tangled themselves in it, holding me close.  
  
In the dim background a song faded away and much too soon, the kiss was over. My eyes remained closed for a moment, afraid that I would open them and discover it had been my imagination all along. This didn't happen to people like me. I could never be this lucky.  
  
Could I?  
  
At last I allowed them to open. Roger smiled, his face splashed with a blend of nervousness and apology and hope. I didn't dare speak, certain my voice would crack or I'd say something stupid and the beautiful, fragile moment would be broken.  
  
The musician touched my face carefully. "I, uh maybe I shouldn't have taken that cocktail," he said, his voice barely audible over the noise of the party. "It must be getting to me"  
  
I stepped back enough to free myself from his arms. "What?" I shook my head, not even wanting to consider what his words had meant.  
  
His brow creased just slightly. "I didn't mean I just—"  
  
"No, it's fine." With a sigh, I turned and headed for the bar.  
  
"Mark!" he called, chasing after me. I whipped around to face him.  
  
"Just leave me alone, okay?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said I want to be alone right now!" I shouted.  
  
"You're being silly, I don't even see what the problem is!"  
  
"The problem?" I snatched my coat off the chair and threw it on. "The problem is that you seem to think the world revolves around you and your fucking whims. You think you can do whatever you want, whenever you want without any consequences and it doesn't work that way!"  
  
"Jesus, calm down!" Roger grabbed my shoulder but I jerked away. "It's just the drugs in you talking—"  
  
"Fuck the drugs!" My voice faltered but I continued, oblivious to the odd stares we were beginning to attract. "I wish we'd never taken them, they obviously make us do things we don't want to."  
  
"I never said—"  
  
"Well you might as well have!" I stormed off without listening to anything else he said.  
  
Somehow I ventured across the packed dance floor to one of the restrooms. They smelled of urine and vomit and other fluids I didn't even want to think about at the moment. I sank to the floor beside one of the stalls and rested my head on my knees.  
  
It was stupid, so stupid of me to fall under his spell. To let those eyes entrance me, to allow myself to actually enjoy the feel of his lips against mine. It was setting myself up for failure; I'd know that all along. He didn't want me. He couldn't want me. Who would?  
  
And yet, for a few seconds there, I was so sure  
  
Well, I had been wrong. Damn it, I should have known he was just a flirt. Nothing more. And now he hated me, for making a huge deal over something I should have accepted from the very beginning. Maybe it _was_ just the drugs fucking with me.  
  
Christ. The drugs. Benny had probably been right in thinking Roger was bad news. I'd known him for a day and look what had already happened. A fucking day. The life span of a fruit fly was longer than that.  
  
So it couldn't be hard to just get over him. I could leave right now, go home, forget he'd ever existed. It'd be easy.  
  
Sure. Easy as lying to myself. I sighed. I couldn't forget him. No, I didn't _want_ to forget him. I wanted to get to know him, to learn his secrets and tell him mine, to share experiences and ice cream cones and inside jokes. I wanted to love him and to be loved in return. Maybe he wasn't perfect, but he was capable of that much. I knew it.  
  
Standing up, I scanned the area for Roger. He was still at the bar, engrossed now in drinking. As I pushed through the dancing crowd, I caught sight of the empty bottles and glasses that lined the bar beside Roger. Were those all his?  
  
When I reached the chair, he turned and nodded at me. His eyes were dull and a little angry. "Hey," he mumbled thickly.  
  
"Hey. I just wanted to say I—"  
  
"Whatever." He closed his eyes and downed a shot of liquor.  
  
I sighed. "Would you just listen to me?"  
  
"I'm out of here." No sooner had he stood up, though, than he stumbled and fell forward into my arms. It took me a moment to adjust under his weight. Once I'd regained my balance, he extracted himself from my arms, wobbling a little on his feet. "See ya."  
  
"Don't be an idiot," I retorted. "You're drunk. Let me take you home."  
  
He shook his head stubbornly. "I'm fine. I don't fucking help your need your help" He attempted to move and nearly fell again.  
  
"Oh yeah? Where are you gonna go, then? Another park bench? Fine." Despite my words, I slid an arm around Roger's waist and coaxed him into leaning against my shoulder. "Come on. You need to sleep it off."  
  
"Damn it, Mark" Luckily, that was the last protest I heard out of him.  
  
A small laugh escaped my throat as we exited the warehouse. For a die-hard partier, he sure was a boring drunk. I knew better than to say that aloud, of course; wouldn't want to risk him becoming an angry drunk. Boredom was better than a fist to the nose.  
  
After what felt like the longest walk of my life (hey, it's not easy dragging 180 pounds of mostly dead weight for ten blocks), we reached our building. I paused, leaning against the wall to catch my breath, "Think you can make it up there without my help?"  
  
Roger nodded. "Asthma problems again?" he mumbled.   
  
I shrugged. _No, just getting tired of carrying your ass everywhere when you weigh about fourty pounds more than I do. _We scaled the stairs slowly, I behind him in case he tripped or stumbled. Not that I would be able to do much at that point, besides fall with him.  
  
"I'm fine, you know," he insisted, clutching desperately on to the banister.  
  
"Uh-huh." Best not to argue, I figured. Hell, neither of us was exactly sober, which meant talking was a bad idea.  
  
Finally we arrived at the loft and I unlocked the door. Inside Benny was sprawled on the couch. He met my eyes and gave a wave of greeting.  
  
"What happened to your hot date?" I asked, shedding my coat then helping Roger out of his.   
  
"We didn't really hit it off, so she claimed a headache and went home early. Her loss." Smirking, he sat up. "Where've you been?"  
  
"A party."  
  
"Really." Benny arched an eyebrow. "You never go to parties with me."  
  
What was his problem? "I'm so sorry. Do you want a cookie?"  
  
"Damn. Sarcastic much?" He studied my eyes for a second. "How many drinks did you have?"  
  
"One beer. That's—"  
  
I was interrupted by a loud thump. I glanced around in confusion.  
  
Roger was now lying on the floor.  
  
"Shit." I knelt down. "Roger?"  
  
His eyes blinked open. "Huh?"  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
"Uh yeah." He paused. "Why am I down here?"  
  
Benny exhaled loudly. "Great. Our new roommate's a fucking drunk. Does he do drugs too?"  
  
"Shut up," I snapped before refocusing on the musician. "Let's go to sleep, okay?"  
  
He sat up slowly. "Sure. And could you ask Benji to shut his damn mouth so I can get some rest tonight?"  
  
"Don't start with me, Mr. Rock Star," Benny shot back. "I could kick your ass all over the East Village."  
  
"Yeah right. And I fucked Julia Roberts last night."  
  
"Well, you probably fucked everyone else in the city so it's not much of a stretch."  
  
"Guys, please!" I stepped in between the feuding pair. "Is it so hard to get along? Or at least just shut the fuck up?"  
  
"He started it," Roger muttered.  
  
"What are you, eight?" Benny jumped off the couch. "Mark, I'm going to bed. Busy day tomorrow." He leaned in and whispered, "Be careful with him, okay? You never know what guys like that'll do."  
  
I rolled my eyes. "God, have a little bit of faith in me, would you?"  
  
"Hey, I'm just looking out for you, bro." He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and squeezed. "Night."  
  
"Night."  
  
As he retreated to his room, I faced Roger with a sympathetic smile. "Well, shall we?"  
  
He nodded, walking into the room we now shared.  
  
"See you in the morning."  
  
"Wait." He grabbed my arm, then, after a hint of hesitation, pulled me into a hug. "Thanks."  
  
I nodded awkwardly, willing my tense shoulders to relax. What on earth was he thanking me for? "Um anytime." I tried to move away, but he didn't budge. Twisting underneath his heavy arms, I finally managed to catch a glimpse of his face.  
  
He was asleep.  
  
Smiling, I shuffled over to the bed and carefully laid him down on it. He nuzzled into the pillow as I slipped under the covers beside him.  
  
"Goodnight, Roger," I whispered, switching off the lamp.


	6. Chapter Six

Title: Something About You  
Disclaimer: Still not my characters.  
Distribution: Fanfiction.net, and anywhere else upon request.  
Feedback: Always welcome. Review box, or AliQG@aol.com, whatever works.  
Notes: So, yeah. Said I was gonna take a break from writing Rentfic, and what do you know? Not twelve hours later, I'm accosted by an idea that won't leave me alone until I write it down. Of course, after that it took me a few good weeks to get it presentable. But, hey. That's the life of a writer, I guess. Hopefully the next chapter won't take quite as long -- of course, I always say that, but still.  
Summary: In which Roger and Mark deal with the morning-after consequences. With an appearance by everybody's favorite recurring character, Benny! And the introduction of someone new (well, new to the fic, anyway). Yay!  
  
- - - - - Chapter Six - - - - -  
  
I woke up to a pounding headache and the defeaning blare of my alarm clock.  
  
_It can't possibly be morning already,_ I thought groggily, rolling to punch at any button I could find to make that torturous device stop screaming at me. I felt like I'd just run a marathon, not slept for nine hours. _Isn't bed rest supposed to refresh or rejuvenate you or something?_  
  
To my right, the songwriter I'd shared sleeping quarters with groaned and rubbed at his eyes. "Christ, I feel like fucking shit," he mumbled.  
  
Well, at least I wasn't alone in my misery. "You want some water or anything? Aspirin?"  
  
Roger muttered an incoherent reply that sounded affirmative. As I sat up, all the blood rushed from my head, nearly knocking me back down. It took a few moments for my vision to return and my balance to stabilize. Then I dragged myself out of bed and padded into the kitchen.  
  
Benny was already there, seated at the table with a glass of orange juice and a plate of scrambled eggs. "Morning, sunshine," he said upon seeing me. "For having only had one drink, you sure look hung over."  
  
"Bite me."  
  
"I thought that was Roger's job."  
  
I shot him an angry glare. If there was ever a time for teasing me, this was definitely not it. "Shouldn't you be at work right now?"  
  
He eyed me in disbelief. "Mark. It's Sunday. Damn, you really did get fucked up last night."  
  
"All I had was a beer." I quickly ruled out telling him the truth; the last thing I wanted or needed to hear was a lecture on the dangers of drugs or youthful rock musicians. Especially when my brain seemed to be throbbing against the confines of its skull. "I'm just tired. Stayed out too late."  
  
"Poor baby." Benny stood and brought his dishes to the sink. "Got any plans for the day? Or do you have to check with the wife for permission?"  
  
I turned away from him as I swallowed an aspirin, unwilling to let him observe the brilliant color my face had acquired. _Saying things like that really isn't helping me get over him._  
  
Almost a full minute passed before I saw the shocked look on Benny's face and realized I'd spoken aloud. "Fuck."  
  
"You _do_ like him! I knew it!" Benny grinned triumphantly. "Damn, for a straight guy my gaydar is remarkable." He gave him self a congratulatory pat on the back.  
  
"Look, can you please..." I trailed off with a sigh. It was far too early to bother with arguments or denials. "It's kind of complicated, okay? Besides, look at him. Guys like that don't go for losers like me."  
  
He slid an arm around my neck, pulling me to his chest affectionately. "Hey, if he doesn't like you, that's his loss. You're a million times better than his sorry ass anyway."  
  
"Benny..."  
  
"Sorry, dude, but it's true. He's scum and you're... well, you're Mark."  
  
I shook my head. For someone who could be such a jerk at times, it was amazing how good of a friend the guy really was. "Thanks," I said softly. "I needed that, I think."  
  
"Anytime." Benny stepped away and straightened his shirt, suddenly self-conscious. "So, uh, if you'll excuse me, I've got... I don't know, something macho and unsentimental to go do. Later." He nodded a good-bye to me and trotted off to his bedroom.  
  
A smile now in comfortable residence on my lips, I grabbed the aspirin bottle and a cup of water before returning to my own room. Inside, Roger sat curled in a corner, facing the wall.  
  
"Feeling any better?"  
  
He gave a start, and I heard a frantic rustling as he turned around. "What? Um, yeah... a little." He laughed nervously. "I thought you were talking to Benny."  
  
My brow furrowed. Why was he acting so suspicious? "Yeah, and now I'm talking to you. I brought you some aspirin."  
  
"Oh. Thanks." He made no attempt to move, so I stepped toward him. "Don't!" he cried out as I approached. "Shit, I mean--"  
  
"What the fuck is going on here?" Ignoring his please, I moved in further. Roger stood up to try to block me, but in doing so only offered me a clear view past him, to what he was attempting to hide.  
  
In a jumbled pile, shoved haphazardly against the wall, sat a lighter, a metal spoon, a hypodermic needle, and a tiny bag of white powder.  
  
"Holy fu--" His hand covered my mouth, stifling my shout.  
  
"Shut up! Benny'll hear you, and you want him to see this?"  
  
I shook my head mutely, my jaw dropping as soon as he released his grip. "Roger, what the hell?" I whispered.  
  
He avoided meeting my eyes. "I just... it helps relieve stress, you know? And it makes me feel good."  
  
I may have been naive about some things, but I knew enough to realize that there was no way this could be a good situation. "Are you -- are you, like, a junkie?" The word felt so strange on my lips.  
  
"No!" he insisted, staring at the edges of his sleeves. "I just like to take some every now and then. Calms me down, you know?"  
  
"Well to be perfectly honest, no, I don't. I've never -- God, Roger, it's so dangerous. You don't know where that needle's been before you got ahold of it!"  
  
He rolled his eyes and brushed past me, then flopped down on the bed in frustration. "Like it even fucking matters."  
  
"Are you crazy? Of course it matters!" I thought _I_ was the ignorant one here. "What if you get, I don't know, AIDS or something?"  
  
Roger looked up at me sharply, his gaze locking with mine for the first time. So much pain filled his eyes that I thought they might burn me, and without either of us exchanging a word, I knew.  
  
"Oh god," I breathed, raising a hand to my mouth. "I... Roger, I am so sorry, I didn't--"  
  
"I know. I was waiting for the right time to tell you." He let out a sigh and shut his eyelids. "This wasn't quite the way I'd planned it."  
  
I started to close the distance between us, then decided against it. Not because I was afraid -- I knew from sex ed that HIV can't be passed casually, and even if it could, we'd already kissed anyway. But maybe he wouldn't want me around him right now. Hell, we still hadn't worked out the previous night's fight, although that hardly seemed important at this point. "How did you...?"  
  
"My ex, April. She was the groupie type, you know, sex, drugs, and rock and roll, all that shit. i don't know who -- or what -- she got it from. She didn't exactly hang around to tell me." He sniffed, shifting so that his face was hidden from my view.   
  
Not for the first time since Roger and I had met, I was speechless. At least now some things were beginning to fit together. The ex-girlfriend, the HIV+ waiter at Life Cafe, his running off to the bathroom when Steve had to take his AZT. How could I have been so stupid to not figure it out already?   
  
"So. Um." I struggled to make some kind of semi-intelligent conversation. "Did Steve, you know... did he get it from--"  
  
"From me? Are you fucking crazy?" Roger's eyes glazed over icily. "I may be a reckless partier and I may be an asshole a lot of the time but I'm not a fucking murderer, Mark."  
  
"I didn't mean it like that," I whispered. _Great, wonderful thing to say, Cohen. Why don't you accuse him of rape or grand theft auto while you're at it?_  
  
"He got it after we dated. Some trick he picked up who didn't have the smarts to get tested. Kid had no clue he was spreading the goddamn virus to tons of unsuspecting queers, Steve being one of them."  
  
"That's terrible." I hesitantly inched toward the bed. "Roger, look, I'm really sorry. I know I probably seem totally insensitive, but it's just because I've never been in a situation like this before." I took an awkward, tense breath. "Is there anything I can do?"  
  
Rather than calm him like I'd intended, my words seemed to rile the musician even more. He jumped up and resumed his position in the corner of the room. "You can leave and let me shoot up in peace."  
  
"Hey!" I protested, frowning. "This is _my _apartment, you know. You can't just kick me out."  
  
"Okay." Roger picked up the spoon and filled it with heroin from the baggie. He wasn't going to do this in front of me, was he?  
  
As he held the lighter flame underneath the spoon, the answer to that question became evident.  
  
Well, fine. But I wasn't going to sit idly by and be a part of his fucked up routine. "I'm taking a walk," I said, tearing my eyes away from his deftly working fingers. A nagging part of me hoped that he would come with me and leave the drugs behind.  
  
"See ya," he called without so much as pausing.  
  
Pivoting on my heels, I stormed out of the room and slammed the door shut behind me.   
  
I didn't know where to go. I supposed a pub was the appropriate place to hide out when you've just discovered your roommate's most private secrets. But none would be open this early, and even if they were, I wasn't in the mood to get plastered and have to drag myself home. Dealing with Roger's shit was hard enough in a sober state.  
  
As I walked, it became obvious there was only one place I could go: the coffee shop. Nothing like an overdose of caffeine to clear the mind, after all. My usual haunt -- well, the one I'd been frequenting since I'd moved to the city, if that counted as 'usual' -- would be open, I knew, so I made my way up to 14th Street.  
  
I liked CK's because it was the perfect mix of quiet and friendly, both qualities rarely found in the city these days. They had a secluded area with bookshelves and reading lamps, as well as a bar for those seeking a glass of sympathy along with their coffee.  
  
A few people were milling about when I entered, but I headed straight for the bar A pretty redhead grinned as I took a seat. She smoothed the bottom of her uniform shirt and asked, "Can I get you anything?"  
  
"Yeah, a triple espresso, please."  
  
"Sure thing." She winked, turning toward the espresso machine. Within a few minutes, she returned with a small, steaming cup. She set it in front of me then paused. "You look like you could use something to eat. Bagel okay?"  
  
"Oh," I protested quickly, "I didn't bring enough money--"  
  
"No problem. It's on me." The girl -- no, she was definitely a woman -- had an intoxicating smile. "I'm Maureen."  
  
I studied her face. Her intentions seemed innocent enough. "Mark Cohen. And... thanks."  
  
"Any time." Maureen leaned over the counter. "Come here often?"  
  
"Just when I need a fix," I joked, raising my cup.  
Inwardly I winced at the inappropriate timing of that joke. _Not helping to get my mind off him..._   
Maureen, of course, didn't catch the cringe-inducing irony of it. Her laugh seemed to sparkle through the room. This was the kind of girl who probably had every guy in the city after her. Was she really so impressed with me?  
  
"So what brought the craving this morning? Long night? Female troubles?"  
  
I snorted and shook my head. "Hardly." A pause, and then: "It's my new roommate."  
  
Maureen nodded sympathetically. "What happened?"  
  
"Oh, it was nothing." Suddenly, I had an urge to tell her everything. Could I really do that? Well, I allowed myself to admit, maybe it would help to have the opinion of an uninvolved party... "I just found out he has HIV."  
  
"Wow." Her eyes widened. "I'm sorry. Is he sick?"  
  
"Not yet. But I'm worried about him. The HIV isn't the only thing. He, uh... he shoots heroin. Well, and various other recreational drugs. I don't know, that didn't bother me so much. But heroin? That's..."  
  
"Huge," she finished for me, wrinkling her nose. "Addicts are such bad news, believge me."  
  
"He says he's not an addict."  
  
"Yeah, that's what they all say. And you believe them until one day you come home to find that they've left you for another junkie because you tried to get them to stop." Maureen rolled her eyes.  
  
_Gee, wonder if she speaks from experience. _I took a swig of my coffee. "So, what, should I kick him out before it gets worse?"  
  
"At the risk of sounding like a bitch: yes." She pushed a bagel on a plate toward me. "Guess that's not what you wanted to hear."  
  
"Not exactly." I sighed and stared at the waxed countertop.  
  
"But you have to do it, for your own good," Maureen stated simply.  
  
"Is it always so black and white?"  
  
"Pretty much." She grinned. "But hey, on the bright side, you'll get more privacy at home now."  
  
I attempted a small smile, although I probably failed miserably. Kicking Roger out wasn't at all what I wanted to do. Should it matter if he used occasionally? I liked him. That had to count for something.  
  
Then again, Maureen was the one with experience here. Hell, until a few hours ago I'd never even seen illegal drugs, let alone known someone who took them. _Fucking naive little Mark,_ I thought bitterly. _When am I ever going to wise up?_  
  
"Thanks," I said, managing a tiny smile this time. "For everything."  
  
She flashed a sly grin. "Maybe you can make it up to me with dinner some time."  
  
Shit. Why was it I went 20 years without a girlfriend -- or boyfriend -- and now suddenly everybody wanted me?  
  
"Yeah, maybe so." I stood up, grabbed the remains of my bagel, and headed for the door.  
  
"Good luck," she called as I left.  
  
The walk back to the apartment was much faster and more purposeful than when I had left it. In a short minutes I found myself standing at the door. Before I could unlock it, a sound from inside caught my attention.  
  
Guitar chords. A voice like... well, at the risk of sounding completely cliched, like an angel. I closed my eyes and imagined his calloused fingertips gliding along the instrument's strings, extracting the sweet melodies I heard.  
  
No, I couldn't do this. I forced my eyelids open again. He wasn't going to melt me with his stupid music. No matter how gorgeous it was. I had to keep my resolve.  
  
I threw the door open and looked toward the couch where, as I'd expected sat Roger, his guitar, and... Benny?  
  
Well, that was new. The two were perched on opposite ends of the sofa, singing the lyrics of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" together.  
  
Benny actually didn't sound half-bad, surprisingly, but that was by far the least unusual part of the scene. Since when were those two even on speaking, let alone singing, terms?  
  
"What a lovely little couple you two make," I commented, my voice tiptoeing a thin line between joking and sour.  
  
Roger stopped playing and glanced up. "Hey," he replied softly.  
  
_Hey_? No, _hey_ was not an answer here. I wanted an explanation. So of course, I did exactly what would be expected of me in the situation.  
  
"Well, don't let me disturb you," I retorted, trudging to my room.  
  
Way to show them who was boss. I collapsed on the bed with a sigh. Why couldn't I just speak my mind, ask them what was going on?  
  
Oh, yeah. Because I had no fucking _spine._  
  
Even with the door shut I could still hear the music. Like it was haunting me or something.   
  
"_I did my best, it wasn't much   
I couldn't feel so I tried to touch   
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you  
And even though it all went wrong  
I'll stand before the Lord of Song  
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah..._"  
  
Finally I shoved my head underneath a pillow and forced myself to tune out the melody. 


End file.
